The Korean Hulk Returns

In the early stages of the 2013/14 EPL season, Arsenal FC's momentum was strong.

Just before the season kicked off, the club had signed a marquee player in Mesut Özil, sending fans into a frenzy of anticipation. Özil then delivered a fine performance against Sunderland in the fourth round, lifting the atmosphere even higher. Arsenal followed that up by taking down Tottenham and Liverpool, and their form only continued to surge.

And then—

After beating Liverpool in the tenth round, Arsenal turned in a stifling, lifeless display against Manchester United in the very next match and fell 1–0.

Of course, there were reasons. The squad that had been playing so well suddenly looked like this because their starters were running on empty, and two players had been ruled out by illness. Even so, Arsenal's fans were furious.

"Damn it! We lost again?"

"Bloody hell! Why do we keep losing?"

"I'm sick to death of this!"

The opponent hadn't been just any team—it was Manchester United. Arsenal had a long history of looking fragile against United, so this defeat cut deeper than most. That meant Arsenal had to show something—anything—in the next match.

Inside the Arsenal FC manager's office, Arsène Wenger sat reviewing materials, his brow furrowed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠as he let out a long, low breath.

"Hmm…"

Arsène Wenger had managed Arsenal FC for well over fifteen years. His love for the club ran that deep. He thought about Arsenal constantly, always searching for ways to push the team further, and he was fully aware of the recent grumbling from ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the stands.

And because he had spent so many years on the EPL touchline—because he was a man whose bones had been hardened by this league—he knew exactly how to turn the mood around.

The method was simple.

Win the next match. Overwhelm the opposition with a performance that set the fans alight.

Arsène Wenger had done it countless times before. Right now, he was staring at the file on the sacrificial lamb that would restore his team's momentum.

"Southampton, is it…"

Before the match against Arsenal FC began, the players from both sides stood side by side, waiting to take the pitch. Oh Jung-hoon, back in the lineup for the first time in a long while, drew a deep breath and looked over at Jung Hyuk.

"Whew! Hyuk, I'm so wound up I don't know what to do with myself."

Jung Hyuk snorted a laugh.

"Fair enough. Your body's been itching for this."

"Yeah. I've been dying to run."

As he spoke, Oh Jung-hoon's eyes grew damp. He had always put on a brave face, but the truth was that the stretch of time had been hard on him. Watching him, Jung Hyuk clicked his tongue with a bitter twist of the mouth.

No one had been closer to Oh Jung-hoon through all of it than Jung Hyuk. He had known about the nights Jung-hoon spent crying under the covers during rehab. And he had known what was in Jung-hoon's heart as those tears fell.

Anxiety and restlessness must have filled him to the brim. How could they not? For a player who trained every single day, the sudden inability to train—or to play—because of injury left a hollow of loss that ran deep. The fear that he might never get his form back was a terrifying thing.

So Jung Hyuk looked at Oh Jung-hoon with a hard, set face.

"All that frustration from not being able to play—unload every last bit of it on Arsenal."

Oh Jung-hoon smiled. His eyes still looked ready to spill over, but he was definitely smiling.

"You know who I am, right? I'm the guy who's going to be a legend."

"Haha!"

Jung Hyuk burst out laughing. That was not the answer he had expected. Even so, Oh Jung-hoon kept piling on the cringeworthy declarations, steeling his resolve.

"I'm Oh Jung-hoon. Today I'm writing a whole new chapter of history. Hyuk—you're gonna feed me those sweet passes, right?"

"…Yeah. I'll do my best."

The words said yes, but Jung Hyuk's real thoughts were elsewhere. He was worried about how high Jung-hoon was riding.

If he gets too worked up, it could mess with his game.

Oh Jung-hoon still didn't have much experience. Overexcitement could easily drag his performance down, and that was what Jung Hyuk was fretting over. On top of that, the opponent was Arsenal FC. They were no soft touch—honestly, they were a hard matchup.

If you asked football fans right now who would win a match between Southampton and Arsenal, most of them would pick Arsenal. That was how strong a side they were.

Please come back with a brilliant performance. Jung-hoon.

And then, not long after the match began, Jung Hyuk found himself staring at Oh Jung-hoon with an expression of pure disbelief.

The whistle blew. The match was underway.

Today's fixture between Arsenal and Southampton was being played at Arsenal's home ground, the Emirates Stadium. Naturally, the game unfolded under a one-sided wall of noise from the Arsenal faithful.

And that roar ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠from the Arsenal fans vanished three minutes into the match—because Southampton suddenly launched a counterattack.

Adam Lallana cut out Aaron Ramsey's pass and immediately threaded a forward ball toward Oh Jung-hoon up top. Jung-hoon received it with his back to Arsenal center-back Laurent Koscielny. He feinted as if he were spinning left, then snapped his body the other way in a lightning-quick change of direction.

For a split second, space opened in front of him. Koscielny, briefly off-balance, recovered and closed in hard—but Oh Jung-hoon was already swinging his leg through the ball. It was a shot that didn't load up with excess power, one that focused purely on a clean, precise strike.

The sound of a ball struck pure rang out across the pitch.

"…What?"

Arsenal goalkeeper Wojciech Szczęsny stared blankly at the far corner of his goal. There, the ball that had hammered the netting was dropping to the turf. The shot had been threaded into the corner with surgical accuracy, and the timing had been half a beat early—he hadn't even managed a reaction.

As he stood there staring at the ball, Szczęsny's face flushed a deep, rapid red. It was only the third minute of the first half. They were supposed to take all three points against Southampton today without fail. And they had just conceded that easily.

"What the hell was that?!"

Szczęsny, face swollen with fury, roared at Laurent Koscielny. Arsenal's atmosphere froze over in an instant. Even at home, the crowd's cheers had gone silent. Shock and confusion spread across the Arsenal players' faces. None of them had seen this coming.

And Oh Jung-hoon—the man who had just scored—unleashed every ounce of frustration he had been holding back in a celebration that left nothing on the table.

"WAAAAAAAH!"

He ripped off his jersey and charged straight at the cameras. He slid across the grass on his knees, planted himself there, and flexed every muscle in his upper body until they looked ready to burst, bellowing at the top of his lungs.

"YEAAAAAH! I'M BACK! THE KOREAN HULK IS BACK! MY! NAME! IS! KOREAN HULK!"

The Southampton supporters who had made the trip erupted in cheers and whistles—and then in laughter. The referee had already arrived and was brandishing a yellow card for the shirtless celebration, and the man who had been roaring with absolute confidence a second earlier was now bowing at a perfect ninety degrees, gesturing for just one free pass.

And—

"…Oh my god."

Jung Hyuk, who had watched the entire spectacle, looked around in a panic, desperate for somewhere—anywhere—to hide. That was when his eyes met Pochettino's. The manager's nostrils were flaring as he barely held back a laugh. Jung Hyuk waved both hands frantically and shouted.

"I don't even know that guy!"

Having conceded an unexpected goal so early, Arsenal set about trying to carve open Southampton's defense with their trademark quick passing. And Southampton had always been a side that looked vulnerable against that kind of rapid, intricate attack. As the minutes ticked by, Arsenal's increasingly sharp forays began to rattle Southampton's back line.

A roar went up as Arsenal's attacking midfielder Mesut Özil took possession. A player who had already proven himself at the highest level with Real Madrid, he glided forward with that signature silky dribble of his. World Class and one of the finest midfielders on the planet, Özil shrugged off Adam Lallana's press with effortless, rock-solid ball control.

In that moment, Jung Hyuk couldn't help but admire it.

"Whoa… that guy's dribbling is genuinely elegant."

Jung Hyuk had long known Özil's reputation and exactly how gifted a player he was. But this was the first time he had gone toe-to-toe with him in the EPL—their careers had never overlapped. Seeing him in the flesh, Özil's quality fully lived up to the name. Deployed as an attacking midfielder today, he was orchestrating Arsenal's attack superbly from a near free-role position.

As expected—he earns every bit of those stats.

Before kickoff, Jung Hyuk had used the One Who Sees Through trait to check Mesut Özil's attributes. What he had seen looked like this:

Judged purely by the numbers, he was a player whose strengths and weaknesses split clean down the middle. On the plus side, his passing, dribbling, and technique all sat above 90—monster-level attributes. The problem was that those numbers alone couldn't capture what made Mesut Özil special.

His greatest gift didn't even appear on the info window. Özil's real weapon was his vision. To put it only slightly hyperbolically, the way he seemed to see the entire pitch was good enough to rank among the very best in the world. On top of that, he was a deeply creative player. Time and again he attempted—and completed—passes that opposing defenders simply couldn't anticipate. During his Real Madrid days, he had racked up assist after assist.

With vision of that caliber paired with elite passing ability, Özil's distribution was always something opponents had to respect.

His weaknesses, on the other hand, were stamina and physical duels—neither of which could be called strong. His tackling, in particular, sat at a level that was almost embarrassing for a professional. In fact, during his Real Madrid tenure, then-manager José Mourinho had once unloaded a blistering tirade on him about his defensive work.

And yet, even with those shortcomings, Mesut Özil was recognized as one of the finest midfielders on the planet. His strengths were simply that overwhelming.

And right now, that same vast vision and pinpoint passing were putting Southampton under real pressure.

The ball left Özil's foot and skidded low across the grass—a through ball threaded into a pocket of space most people wouldn't even have seen. The player who collected the ball Southampton's defenders had completely lost track of was Arsenal striker Olivier Giroud.

Giroud's form of late had been as good as it had ever been. Once again, his off-the-ball movement was excellent as he latched onto Özil's pass. The first touch was clean, too—one touch, and he had already opened up a shooting angle. True to a player of his powerful physique, Giroud's strike was so hard and so fast that even Artur Boruc, who flung himself at it with remarkable reaction speed, could only get a hand to it before it bulged the net.

Southampton's net rippled hard. At the same time, Olivier Giroud threw an uppercut toward the fans and let out a raw, animal roar.

At that same moment, Jung Hyuk felt something settle over him.

A feeling that today's match against Arsenal was not going to be easy. That it might get genuinely difficult.

And in the middle of all that—

"Haha!"

Jung Hyuk laughed out loud.

When the other side came at you this hard, the match got harder. Unless one team held an overwhelming edge in quality, you ended up with a fierce, back-and-forth scrap. He knew that—and that was exactly why he was smiling.

Of course he was. Matches where both sides hunted goals this relentlessly were always fun. And winning a match like that always felt better than winning any ordinary one.

Besides—a message had just appeared in front of his eyes, one that was about to make the game even more entertaining.